


Full Disk Burn

by fallintosanity (yopumpkinhead)



Category: The Murderbot Diaries - Martha Wells
Genre: Action, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:48:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28141878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yopumpkinhead/pseuds/fallintosanity
Summary: While touring the soundstage of one of its favorite serials, Murderbot saves a human from being jumped by thugs. But the human is more than he seems, and Murderbot finds itself entangled in a bigger mess than it had planned.
Comments: 71
Kudos: 179
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Full Disk Burn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Winoniel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winoniel/gifts).



> This is my first time writing Murderbot, but I love the series and your prompt really captured my imagination. I hope I did it justice. Happy Yuletide!
> 
> HUGE thanks to my beta [Gammarad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gammarad) for their incredibly thorough and patient help, especially at the last minute!

“Doctor! Hold on!”

Dr. Bazan clung to the edge of the sheer white cliff by the fingertips of one hand. His other arm hung limp at his side, while Mezei the beautiful terraforming director leaned over him and struggled to pull him back up. Tears streaked Mezei’s face, but she tried to smile. “I’ve got you, Doctor, don’t worry!”

“It’s all right, my love,” Dr. Bazan said. “It will be all right. You can let me go.”

“No!” Mezei cried. “Please, just hold on a little longer—” 

Dr. Bazan’s grip slipped and he fell from the cliff edge - only to land on the padded foam ground four centimeters beneath his feet. “Shit. Sorry!” he called, shaking out the hand he’d been holding on with. 

“Cut!” someone yelled.

 _This isn’t very realistic,_ ART complained in my feed. 

_It’s_ Timestream Defenders Orion, I said. _Nothing about it is realistic._

_He should have used his other arm._

_It was sliced open by the space beast, remember?_ I said, and played back my archival clip of the tour guide explaining the scene they were filming. Dr. Bazan had been attacked by a vicious space beast and hadn’t been able to use his arm for the last three scenes. _It’ll look better after the media artists fill in the blood,_ I added.

Out on the studio floor, everyone was resetting for the scene. Around me, the humans and augmented humans on the tour chattered excitedly to each other or pressed up against the bubble shield separating us from the set. None of them tried to talk to me, which was fine, because I don’t like talking to strange humans. Besides, ART talking in my feed was distracting enough. 

We were inside the giant Rootpoint Productions sound stage located on BolKeraDan Station. ART had gotten me an extended-access pass to the set where they were filming new episodes of _Timestream Defenders Orion_ (no, I don’t know how, and no, I didn’t ask), and had ridden along in my feed the entire tour with all the giddiness of Dr. Mensah’s youngest offspring at a festival. 

In hindsight, it should have been obvious that you could watch episodes of serials being filmed. The conglomerates who produced most media weren’t satisfied with making money just from selling access to the episodes - they wanted to squeeze every last bit of profit they could out of their productions. So they sold passes to their sets on filming days, ranging from “stupidly expensive” for the simplest tour that was one corporate-standard hour long to “any human or augmented human who spends this much money on half a cycle’s worth of personal entertainment is too irresponsible for their own safety.” Fortunately, I was visiting the transit ring with a deep-space research and teaching vessel whose interest in media is nearly as strong as its interest in deep-space research and teaching. 

Technically, we were only on the station to drop off cargo for one of ART’s uncrewed delivery missions. It was my fourth mission with ART since we’d taken turns saving each other from an alien remnant on an abandoned colony in a forgotten system, and the first time we didn’t have a crew of humans or augmented humans with us. I was 87% sure ART had been planning the filming tour for the last three corporate-standard months. 

ART was docked over at the private, non-commercial section of the station. I had ridden a private pipe lift across to the public areas where humans and augmented humans congregated, and a dedicated transit capsule from there into the Rootpoint Productions sound stage. It took up a sizable portion of the rest of the station, including a whole module they’d constructed specifically for filming. They had additional studios on the planet the station was orbiting, but I don’t like planets and our mission schedule was tight enough that I didn’t have time to ride the limited public shuttles down and back. 

The tour itself had been more interesting than I’d expected. Until ART suggested the studio visit, I hadn’t put much thought into how media gets made. I hadn’t wanted to, either. Media is for _not_ having to think about things. 

According to the research packet ART put together when it was trying to convince me to go (it didn’t have to convince me, but it thought it did, because it knows I don’t like being around strange humans), somewhere between 70-95% of any given movie or serial is digitally generated by media artists. (I knew that already, but ART likes showing off its research as much as it likes doing it in the first place.) The remaining percentage is made up of stock footage and human or augmented human actors on sets. The actors weren’t actually necessary, but for some reason humans like knowing they’re watching other real humans in their media, even when the real humans are pretending to be fictional characters. Having a famous actor in a starring role could more than triple a serial’s success. 

Anyway. ART and I both like _Timestream Defenders Orion_ a lot, even if it’s not my most-favorite series (that’s _The Rise and Fall of Sanctuary Moon_ , in case you were wondering) (you probably weren’t wondering, but now you know anyway). It was more fun than I’d expected to walk through the set of the ship’s bridge, and the big modular foam area they used for filming the human actors in all other settings. (The media artists would paint the actual setting part over the foam later.)

Since ART had gotten me the expensive pass, I got to stay with a small group of humans and augmented humans (that’s not the part I liked) and watch the actors shoot the scene that ended with Dr. Bazan falling off the cliff. Out in the sound stage, everything had been reset, and Dr. Bazan jumped up to hang off the edge of the foam-block “cliff” again. They did three more tries, none of which was good enough for the augmented human in charge, before the guide said it was time to leave.

The tour ended with a stop in the studio’s souvenir shop. I don’t have a use for nonfunctional sentimental objects and I don’t like things with logos on them, even if the logo is for a completely fictitious group of time-hopping heroes, so I didn’t buy anything for me. I did buy something for ART, a little static art piece that I slipped into one of my jacket’s pockets as I left the studio. Along with the other humans and augmented humans on the tour, I climbed into the transit capsule back to the public area of the station. 

_I don’t have a use for nonfunctional sentimental objects, either,_ ART said in my feed.

I responded with a still image of the _World Hoppers_ sticker that had appeared on ART’s control bridge sometime before the whole Barish-Estranza incident.

 _My crew put that there,_ ART said.

 _Sure they did,_ I said. 

Thanks to the studio’s presence, BolKeraDan Station was a busy one, full of humans and augmented humans either working for the studio or visiting it. I had gone through the public area on my way here, and on the transit ride to the studio I had pulled the station’s schematic from its security system and mapped out fourteen ways to get back to ART that didn’t involve going anywhere near the public areas again. The quickest route meant convincing the capsule that I was a studio employee who was allowed to disembark at the immediate next stop. 

_I am not sentimental,_ ART insisted. 

_But you do like_ Timestream Defenders Orion, I replied. _This tour was your idea._

The studio’s security was good - it had to be, to protect its intellectual property - but I have a lot of practice hacking into security systems. (It helps that SecUnits are built to be extensions of a SecSystem.) The studio’s SecSys readily accepted me.

There were a few murmurs of confusion among the human and augmented human passengers as the capsule slowed to a gentle stop only a minute after it had started moving, but I ignored them as I stepped out into an employees-only service passage. It would take me around 33 minutes to walk back to ART’s dock this way instead of the 18 minutes to go through the public areas, but we had almost twice that before ART was scheduled to depart and it was worth it to not have to be around all the humans in the public areas.

The service passage was darker and dingier than the public areas of the station. I had gotten access to StudioSecSys’s cameras when I’d taken control of it to stop the capsule, and now I used them to keep an eye out for any studio employees that might wonder why a terrifying murderbot was walking around in the restricted areas. Not that they’d know I was a terrifying murderbot - I’ve gotten enough practice at passing for an augmented human that most humans don’t give me a second glance anymore - but I was still someone who wasn’t supposed to be there. 

_I thought you would like the tour,_ ART said.

In response, I played a clip from my archive from earlier, when ART had been giddily exclaiming over the details on the _Orion_ set.

As I did, I followed the passage around a long curve which the station schematic said would terminate at a private exit to the docks. Side passages branched off every ten to twenty meters, leading to various studio functional areas. About two hundred meters ahead, the cameras picked up a lone human hurrying along the passage. They were out of visual range around the curve, and I slowed my pace to match theirs so I wouldn’t get close enough for them to notice me. (They were moving quickly, but my legs were a lot longer and my baseline pace is faster than most humans and augmented humans.) 

Their feed signature said they were a human male named Jeral, with a Rootpoint Studios junior employee ID. On the cameras, he was short, slender to the point of delicate, and pale-skinned, with straight, shoulder-length black hair streaked with blue. He was dressed in an ill-fitting grey jumpsuit, with a long brown hooded cape wrapped around his shoulders. I frowned and zoomed the camera image in more closely. It didn’t have a great angle, but something about him looked weirdly familiar. 

ART pretended to ignore the archived conversation. _I’m not going to do nice things for you anymore,_ it grumbled. 

I started a scan of my archives, looking for a match to the human’s face. Something was off about him - no. Something was off about the whole service passage. I stopped paying attention to ART (it hates that, but it could deal) and focused my attention on the camera view of the passage. I wished I’d brought a drone squad with me, but using them in public would’ve been like covering myself in marker paint broadcasting _I’m a SecUnit!_ , so I’d left them behind on ART. I’d have to make do with StudioSecSys’s cameras.

I scanned the cameras’ feed again. There: four more humans lurked in the shadows of the side passages, two in one passage about thirty meters ahead of Jeral the junior studio employee, and two more another twelve meters beyond that. They were all wearing dark, sturdy, but otherwise nondescript clothes, and a quick weapons scan showed they were all carrying concealed energy weapons. One of them had a hand pressed to a feed interface in his ear. 

_What is it?_ ART asked in my feed. 

I checked the cameras again. No other humans or augmented humans were in any part of the passage. The dark-clothed human’s jaw worked as he subvocalized something into the feed.

Oh, I knew what was about to happen here. The only question was whether the waiting hostiles had noticed me. 

_Answer me,_ ART ordered. (I said it hates being ignored.) 

The waiting human who’d been talking on the feed (designation: Hostile One) tapped the arm of his companion (Hostile Two) and pointed up the passage toward both the lone human and me. 

ART had finally realized what was going on, and now did the feed equivalent of a disapproving frown. _You should stay out of this. You don’t know what’s going on here._

I shut down the feed connection, mostly to spite ART. I might not be a giant asshole research transport with an omniscient machine intelligence, but I’m a SecUnit. I know how to protect humans. ART reopened the feed 0.2 seconds later because it’s an asshole. _Be careful,_ it said. 

I’d picked up my pace as soon as I realized the junior employee was walking into an ambush. He passed the first pair of hostiles, apparently without noticing them. If they were going to act, it was going to happen in the next 43 seconds, while he was between the two groups. 

I was far enough around the curve now to have a visual on him myself, instead of through the cameras, which was just as well because that’s when all the SecSystem’s cameras cut off. My threat assessment shot from 93% to 100%. 

Jeral jumped when he heard my footsteps, and he glanced nervously over his shoulder at me. I acted like I was ignoring him, but used the opportunity to pull a better image of his face, and sent it to ART with the tag, _Who is this?_

That was when Hostile Two stepped out of the passage and fired an energy weapon at me. 

The shot went wild because I had started running the moment I saw movement. I went up the wall of the passage, which Hostile Two wasn’t expecting, and leaped. He yelled and fired at me again as I landed on him. The shot hit me this time, but while energy weapons are painful and incapacitating for humans, they just piss me off. I slammed his head into the floor and ripped the weapon out of his hands, breaking three of his fingers in the process. 

Up ahead, Hostile One and the other two lurking humans (designations: Hostile Three and Hostile Four) had also broken cover and were converging on Jeral the junior employee. He looked terrified, but also like he was going to try to run, which was a stupid idea because all three remaining Hostiles had their own weapons out. (This is why humans can’t be trusted with their own security.) 

I shot Hostile Three with the stolen energy weapon, closed the distance to Hostile One before any of them could react, grabbed him by the throat, and threw him into the wall. Showing more common sense than I’d expected, Jeral flung himself sideways and curled into a ball against the opposite side of the passage. 

That gave me a clear line of sight to Hostile Four. (This was the downside to the cameras being cut - I couldn’t rely on anything except my own inputs, which sucks in a fight.) He raised his weapon, but I took it from him, bashed it against the side of his head, and broke his arm. He fell to the floor, making whimpering noises. 

Hostile Three had recovered somewhat from the energy blast I’d hit her with. She got back up to her knees and snapped off a shot at me. It went wild, sparking against the metal wall of the passage. I kicked her elbow, grabbed her by the hair, and slammed her head into the floor, too. This time she stayed down. 

I went back to Hostile Four and pressed on the big vein in his neck until he slumped over. I could have left him conscious to ask him what was going on, but I didn’t think any of the Hostiles had gotten a good look at me and I wanted to keep it that way. (They’d even been nice enough to cut their own cameras for me.) Besides, I could probably get better answers from their would-be victim.

 _That was messy,_ ART said in my feed.

 _It could have been a lot messier,_ I said, irritated. I thought it had gone well. I hadn’t even had to kill anyone. 

“Um,” the junior studio employee Jeral said. “I…” He took a deep breath, then pushed himself upright and straightened his spine the way humans do when they’re trying to feel confident. But he was the size of a late-adolescent human and I was the size of a SecUnit (minus two centimeters in my arms and legs), and his confidence wavered. He still managed to sound polite when he said, “Thank you.” 

It will never not be strange to have a human thank me for doing my job. (Not that this was a job. He wasn’t a client. I don’t even know why I stepped in, except that he’d been alone and small and scared, and protecting small scared humans is what I do.) 

I remembered to say, “You’re welcome,” before my hesitation got long enough to be weird for a human. (It was long enough to be weird for a bot.) Then, because ART was right and I hadn’t known what I was walking into, I asked, “Why were they after you?” 

Jeral shook his head. “I don’t know.” He rubbed his hands along his arms, his confidence visibly slipping further. I wished again that I had my drones, or at least that StudioSecSys’s cameras would come back on, so I could watch him through them. He was making me nervous just looking at him. “I’m just… I’m not anyone,” he said. “I don’t know what they wanted with me.” 

He was lying. He was remarkably good at it, for a human, but my scan showed several subtle psychological indicators of stress that didn't match the adrenaline release of having just been jumped in a dark passage. I don’t mind helping humans, but not if they’re going to lie to me afterward. I said, “You’re lying.” 

At almost the same time, ART said, _You need to see this._ It dropped a data packet in my feed: it had matched Jeral’s face. I checked the results, then checked them again because _what the fuck._

Jeral was saying, “It’s the truth! I just work here, I never expected to—”

I cut him off, because I was too surprised to stay quiet. “You’re Prometheus.” 

His mouth snapped shut and all the fear cleared from his expression as he stared at me. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, whether he was deciding to deny it, to lie again, or even try to run. In the end, though, he lifted his chin and looked at my face (I think he would have looked me in the eyes if he could, but I don’t like meeting humans’ eyes and was staring at a spot just to the right of his head). “Fine,” he said flatly. “Yes, I played Prometheus.” 

Prometheus was a major character for two entire story arcs spanning nearly four dozen episodes of _The Rise and Fall of Sanctuary Moon._ In the show he’d had fluffy blond hair with green highlights, and had dressed in snazzy, form-fitting black bodysuits, which was why I hadn’t recognized him at first. That, and the fact that I hadn’t expected to run into him - not here, or at all.

 _His real name is Lio Fortuna,_ ART supplied in my feed. _Official records say he’s under contract to AurArts Networks, which produces_ Sanctuary Moon. _Their studios are located two wormhole hops from here. Why is he in a Rootpoint studio?_

Good question. I said to Jeral - Lio - “Why are you in a Rootpoint studio? Don’t you work for—”

“AurArts,” he said bitterly. He eyed me for 4.6 seconds. He was hard for me to read (more than most humans, I mean), probably because he was an actor and it was his job to make people believe his fake feelings were real. But then his whole posture shifted, in a way that made me think of Dr. Mensah when she came out of important meetings and didn’t have to be the Administrative Director of the Preservation Alliance anymore. Like they were taking off a heavy protective suit or something. 

“All right,” Lio said. “You saved me, I suppose I owe you the truth.” 

_I know you’re the experienced SecUnit and I’m just the research transport,_ ART said in my feed (imagine it saying that as sarcastically as it can, then double that, and you’d be close to how ART sounded), _but are you sure you should be standing around there?_

Shit. ART was right. I’d gotten so distracted by the fact that the human I’d rescued had turned out to be Prometheus, the Master of Fire who’d destroyed a quarter of the colony before falling in love with the dashing hero and redeeming himself via tragic sacrifice in a volcano in the heart of the moon, that I’d lost situational awareness. The four Hostiles were still immobile on the ground and the cameras hadn’t started working again, but we’d been standing here way too long already. (Objectively, it had been 57.2 seconds since I’d taken down the last Hostile, but that’s an eternity in a threat situation.) Whoever the Hostiles worked for had probably already realized something had gone wrong. 

I hate when ART is right about my job. 

(In the feed, ART did the bot equivalent of smirking at me. I cut my feed connection again, just to revel in the .018 seconds of not having an omniscient machine intelligence looming over me.) 

_Don’t sulk_ , ART said when it reestablished the connection. 

_I’m not sulking,_ I answered. _You’re distracting me._

Out loud, I said to Lio, “Not here. We need to move.” 

He blinked, then looked around like he, too, had forgotten we were still in the ambush zone. “Right. There’s a transport I’m supposed to be meeting at the commercial docks.”

“Okay,” I said, and started walking in that direction. Lio followed me, half-jogging to keep up with my longer stride. It was bizarre to see him here next to me. In _Sanctuary Moon_ , Prometheus was an imposing figure, even though the camera angles never tried to hide that he was smaller than most adult humans. I think it was supposed to have been part of his charm - a contrast between his small stature and his immense presence.

In real life, he was much more withdrawn, hunching under his cape like he was trying to hide. He had dark circles under his eyes and a worried frown tugging at his mouth, though he was still far more aesthetically pleasing than most humans. Studios paid top dollar for cosmetic enhancements to make sure their actors were considered sexually attractive to a majority of humans and augmented humans. I don’t experience sexual attraction (and I am very glad for that), but I’ve overheard more than enough chatter in the social feeds to know that Prometheus was one of _Sanctuary Moon’s_ most popular characters in that regard. 

As we walked, I ran over the station schematics. The private dock entrance at the end of this service passage led, predictably, to the private docks. It was at the opposite end from where ART was docked, though, close to the gate between the private and commercial docks. 

At the same time, I grabbed hold of StudioSecSys and did some quick editing of the footage to remove both Lio and me from the hallway completely. I also added a loop to cover the missing time. Not having a blank spot when the cameras were supposed to have been turned off would add to the confusion of what, exactly, had happened to the Hostiles. 

We reached the end of the service passage and I told StudioSecSys that we were two junior studio employees sent to help offload a supply carrier. I also told it not to notice my built-in weapons, and when it tried to alert on an implant in Lio, to not do that. Finally it unlocked the door for us, and we stepped out onto the private docks. 

Lio breathed a sigh of relief when we were out of the studio’s area. “I’m glad that worked,” he said.

“If you mean your fake feed ID,” I said, “it didn’t.” 

He looked up at me in a panic. “It alerted them? I need to—”

“Calm down,” I interrupted. (I like being able to interrupt humans who are being irrational.) “I took care of it.” 

He stared at me for 7.4 seconds, which is a long time even for a human. Finally he said in a flat voice, “You took care of it.” 

“I didn’t want to be noticed, either,” I said. 

We were walking along the dock area, weaving through cargo containers and hauler bots. A few humans and augmented humans milled around, as well, but they were focused on their jobs and didn’t pay attention to us. 

_They’re too focused,_ ART said. _Normally humans working dockside are curious about anyone unfamiliar._

 _Unless they’re paid to not be,_ I answered. _The Hostiles might have intended to take Lio out this way._

_Or they’re paid not to have an interest in anything the studio is doing._

_Or that,_ I agreed. _Can you find the commercial ship Lio mentioned?_

 _I thought you’d never ask,_ ART said, and immediately dumped a data packet into my feed, which meant it had already looked it up and was waiting for me to ask. (Like I said, ART’s an asshole.) 

While I sorted through the packet, pulling out docking slot, passenger, and destination info, I said to Lio, “Now you can tell me why you’re here, and not on an AurArts station.” 

He had been staring at me for the last 17.8 seconds as we walked. I still couldn’t read him at all, but my scan was picking up more subtle signs of distress: elevated breathing and heart rate, minute flickers of his eyes as he calculated. He said, “Before I do that… Are you kidnapping me?” 

That was so unexpected that I said, “What?” without thinking. “Why would I kidnap you?”

He made a sharp movement with one hand. “Why else would you have protected me from those Rootpoint goons? They were sent to keep me from leaving. Why would you have interfered, if not to take me for yourself?” 

“I’m not here to take you for myself,” I said, exasperated. This is why I hate humans. They jump to all the wrong conclusions.

 _It’s not an unreasonable conclusion,_ ART pointed out in my feed. _From his point of view, you came out of nowhere, saved him from a dangerous situation, and are continuing to help him with no apparent motive._

 _Why do I need a motive?_ I complained. _Why can’t I save a human because I like to save humans?_

ART did the feed equivalent of a derisive snort. (It does that a lot, and it’s exactly as annoying as it sounds.) _You aren’t that naive._

It was right (again, ugh). We were in the Corporation Rim, where nobody did anything unless they stood to profit from it. I’d been around Dr. Mensah and the Preservation crew too long. 

Lio stopped walking abruptly and I had to play back the last few seconds of my audio to see what I’d missed. He’d said, “It wouldn’t be the first time a fan has tried to kidnap me. Or are you with Xillo? I know they were mad that Rootpoint outbid them.” That was where he’d stopped walking. I stopped, too, and he glared at me. “Answer me!” 

He sounded like Prometheus, all haughty command. But I thought I understood, now, what was going on. “AurArts sold your employment contract to Rootpoint?”

The media conglomerates each kept a stable of actors, building what Mensah’s marital partner Farai called “cults of personality”. It was mostly just a way to haul in yet more profits by selling souvenirs, memorabilia, and even interactions with the actors over a feed or (again at a price point of “completely irresponsible”) in person. Sometimes studios sold or traded actors’ contracts, which always caused a massive frenzy among the humans. (One of Mensah’s offspring had locked herself in her room and refused to eat for two days when a studio had traded her favorite actor to a different studio, meaning the actor wouldn’t be in her favorite show anymore.)

Lio nodded, some of the fiery warlord going out of his posture. “It hasn’t been announced yet. Rootpoint is planning a big surprise reveal.” He hesitated, but this time instead of hunching in on himself and rubbing his arms, he bit his lip and looked away. I filed that away as probably his real indicator of nervousness. Finally he said, “AurArts sold my contract because I was building up employment credit too quickly. I almost had enough to buy myself out. But when they sold my contract to Rootpoint, Rootpoint added a reproduction-and-offspring clause.” 

_An offspring clause is a standard addendum to employment contracts in the Corporation Rim,_ ART told me. _It binds—_

 _I know what it is,_ I interrupted (I like being able to interrupt ART, too). I’d seen it in media, and heard the humans on my own contracts talk about it, back when I still worked for the company. It bound your offspring to your contract if you weren’t able to pay off your employment debt before you died. _What’s a reproduction-and-offspring clause?_

 _It’s unique to media actor contracts,_ ART said. _It makes the production of offspring part of the terms of their employment._

Oh, ugh. _In other words,_ I said, _it allows the media conglomerates to breed their star actors together to produce more star actors._

 _Exactly,_ ART said. 

I hate the Corporation Rim. 

“I know, right?” Lio said bitterly. I had to run my audio back to make sure I hadn’t said that last part out loud, but apparently Lio was just reacting to whatever my face was doing. He added, “They wanted to partner me with Seta Ken.”

ART helpfully dropped another information packet into my feed. Seta Ken was a human female and one of Rootpoint Productions’ highest-value actors. Every piece of media starring her in the past six Corporate Standard years had outperformed expectations by 70% or more. (She wasn’t in _Timestream Defenders Orion_ , though. It wasn’t a high-enough value production for someone as famous as Seta.) Most femme-attracted humans found her incredibly sexually appealing, but ART had found several reports (which Rootpoint had tried, with some success, to quash) that she was also standoffish and generally unpleasant to work with. 

“I’m the product of a reproduction-and-offspring clause,” Lio said, his voice harsh. “I never even wanted to be an actor. But I didn’t have a choice.” 

Oh, that was a familiar sentiment. I made sure that this time, my face wasn’t doing anything I didn’t want it to. 

Lio shook his head, biting his lip again, the harsh edge bleeding out of his tone. “I don’t want to… I _can’t_ do that to my own kids. I won’t.”

“So you’re running away,” I said. Speaking of running, we’d been standing there too long, so I started walking again, toward the public dock gate.

He nodded, falling into step beside me again. 

“What was your plan?” I asked. “You have a fake feed ID that wouldn’t have gotten you past the security scan at the studio exit, and you bought passage on a commercial transport?” 

Lio winced. “It sounded better when I arranged it.” 

“Of course it did,” I said. 

“So… I’m willing to buy you’re not here to kidnap me,” Lio said, “because you would’ve known all that about Rootpoint already if you were. But if you aren’t, then why _are_ you here? Why are you helping me?” He made a frustrated gesture. “You haven’t even told me your name.” 

“I’m a security consultant,” I said. I had a name I’d used before when I’d pretended to be an augmented human security consultant to other humans, so I added, “You can call me Eden.” 

His eyes narrowed. In my feed, ART did the bot equivalent of a facepalm. I belatedly remembered that Eden was also a character from _Sanctuary Moon_ , whose character arc had overlapped Prometheus’s for eight episodes. If there was any human that name would sound suspicious to, it would be the actor who played Prometheus. 

Then Lio sighed and said, “Of course. You recognized me, I should’ve guessed you’re a fan.”

I said, “I don’t use my real name for anything.” 

We were almost at the security checkpoint between the private and commercial docks. The public station had a separate SecSystem from Rootpoint’s, but I’d infiltrated it earlier, when I’d first left ART and headed out to the Rootpoint module. BolKeraDan Station scanned for weapons and I hadn’t wanted its scanners alerting on me. I used my access now to tell the security checkpoint that we had permission to pass through to the commercial docks. It tried to alert on the same implant in Lio that the studio’s exit had. I told it to ignore the implant again, and we passed through the gate.

When we were on the other side, I said to Lio, “Did you know you have a tracking implant?” 

“Yes,” he said, and made that frustrated gesture again. “It’s in my contract. My—The person I’m meeting on the commercial transport, they said they’d be able to get it out.” 

_He got this plan from Episode 184 of_ Operation: 00 _,_ ART said. 

_It didn’t work in_ Operation: 00 _, either,_ I reminded ART. 

_He’s desperate._

_I can see that._ I said to Lio, “What was your plan to get past the scanner on the Rootpoint studio exit?” 

“...Run really fast?” He rubbed his hands over his face. “I know it’s a terrible plan. I know it was likely to fail. But I couldn’t stay there and dance on strings for them anymore, either.” 

ART did a quick search and informed me that was a figure of speech. _I know that_ , I snapped. _Stop distracting me._

 _I’m not distracting you any more than you’re distracting me from departure preparations,_ ART scoffed. _What he’s saying is making you uncomfortable._

ART being right didn’t get any less annoying the more it happened. _Running away from Rootpoint is different from hacking your governor module._

 _You feel sympathy for him,_ ART said. 

_I’m not talking about this right now,_ I said. _Rootpoint has another ambush prepared. I need to find a way around it._

I was tracking the conversation with Lio on one input and the conversation with ART on another, but most of my attention had been on scanning the embarkation zone of the commercial docks. There were more humans and augmented humans here, dock employees but also tourists and studio employees on company business. StationSecSys had cameras everywhere, and through them I’d spotted six more humans dressed like the Hostiles back in the studio passage, lurking around the passenger loading area of the commercial transport ART had identified. A quick scan told me they were all armed with energy weapons. 

ART stopped talking but stayed in my feed. It liked watching me work and I didn’t mind it being there, as long as it kept its big mouth shut. 

Lio looked around nervously and pulled the hood of his cape up around his face. “Eden,” he said quietly. Through StationSecSys’s cameras I saw him staring at one of the new Hostiles.

“I see them,” I said. “Stay close to me.” 

He’d been keeping a distance of one to one and a half meters between us (which I appreciated, even if I knew it was only because he was scared of me and also because I was enough taller than him that he had to crane his neck to look up at me). Now he came close enough that he could have grabbed my arm. His hand raised as though he was considering it, but dropped again. Good. I don’t like being touched, even if sometimes it’s necessary to keep track of my clients. (Lio wasn’t my client.)

(Who was I kidding.)

Keeping one input on the six new Hostiles through StationSecSys’s cameras, I sent a cautious ping to the commercial transport’s bot pilot. It was more sophisticated than the average cargo bot pilot, and had an augmented human crew member to back it up. I told it I was part of StationSecSys and it happily told me that two more Hostiles waited on board. (It didn’t call them Hostiles, but it showed me all its passengers’ feed information plus a camera view of the preboarded passengers, and there was a 91.4% chance that the two humans in nondescript dark clothes with vague feed profiles were Hostiles.) 

I opened a connection to the transport’s SecSystem and began wrestling it for control. Like the bot pilot, it was more sophisticated than the SecSystems used on uncrewed cargo transports (I guess Rootpoint wanted to make sure nothing happened to its tourists traveling to and from the station). The system was suspicious of me and I had to make sure it didn’t alert the bot pilot or the augmented human crew member that I was there.

So I was neck-deep in TransportSecSys when the killware hit. 

It had been lurking somewhere in TransportSecSys, probably waiting for the transport to launch. It was trying to take out both TransportSecSys and the bot pilot, presumably so the Hostiles could hijack the transport and take Lio wherever they wanted. Maybe Lio’s supposed accomplice on the transport had even been real, and had planted the killware as part of his escape attempt. But it didn’t matter who’d put it there or why, because I’d accidentally triggered it early. Now it thought I was part of TransportSecSys and was trying to kill me, too. 

I flung up a wall and yelled in my feed, _ART!_

ART flowed through my connection with a sensation like my head being shoved down. The killware was good - it had already taken down TransportSecSys and chewed halfway through my wall - but I knew ART could handle it. 

On my external input, Lio grabbed my arm. “Eden!”

I was too distracted by the killware to answer, and my buffer said, “Please stand by, I am handling an attack on my system.”

Lio jerked away from me, his eyes huge and terror on his face. “You’re a—”

ART tore the killware apart. My metaphorical head got shoved down again as it backed out of my connection, and when my inputs came back, I got a confused jumble of video and audio: alarms screeching on the transport, humans yelling from inside the passenger loading bay, and, oh yeah: all six new Hostiles (designations: Hostiles Five through Ten) running at me and Lio. All of them had drawn their weapons; three of them were pulling open their dark shirts, revealing Station Security uniforms underneath. One shouted, “You! Freeze!” 

Predictably, all of that panicked most of the other humans in the area. Several of them screamed upon noticing the weapons. Others started running, though there were so many Hostiles that there wasn’t any one direction the humans could go to get away, and they ended up running wildly all over the dock. Others stopped and stared between Lio and me, and the Hostiles. On the jumble of StationSecSys cameras I saw a few of them react in surprise, pointing at Lio and exclaiming to their companions. 

I should have moved by now but the killware and ART pushing through my feed had temporarily disoriented me. By the time I got my inputs sorted enough to act, the Hostiles had taken up position in a wide ring around us. 

The Hostile who’d shouted (Hostile Five) pointed his energy weapon at Lio and me, and said, “Put your hands up and come quietly. You’re under arrest for attacking a commercial transport.” 

ART did the feed equivalent of a derisive snort. (I said it does that a lot. I wasn’t kidding.) _That line was straight out of_ Timestream Defenders Orion.

Beside me, Lio’s jaw dropped. “Attacking a transport?” he repeated. “We haven’t even gone near—”

“Shut up,” Hostile Six snapped. Behind him, several of the uninvolved humans were whispering to each other and pointing at Lio. 

Lio seemed to notice this, because he gave a haughty Prometheus laugh. He drew himself up to his full (but still tiny) height, tossed the hood of his cape off to reveal his face, and said, “I won’t let you take me back. I’d rather die here than allow you to quench my flames.” 

_He’s clever,_ ART observed. 

_That_ line had been straight out of Episode 143 of _Sanctuary Moon_ , from the scene where the heroic colony defender first captured Prometheus. On the cameras I saw a ripple of recognition flow through the humans watching us. The Hostiles noticed it too; Hostile Seven’s jaw moved as he spoke into his feed. 

They were using some kind of private feed connection I didn’t have access to, but it wasn’t hard to guess what he was saying. They had tried the “Station Security Officer” ploy in the hope of getting Lio under control before anyone recognized him. Lio had realized this and deliberately invoked recognition, which meant the Hostiles were out of options. 

That also meant Lio and I were out of options. (That wasn’t strictly true. I had the option to abandon Lio to Rootpoint and make my own escape. But I wasn’t going to do that.) I checked StationSecSys; my threat assessment module didn’t like my plan but I was used to ignoring it by now. 

_Tell me you’re cleared for launch,_ I said to ART. 

_I will be by the time you get here._

_Good._ I opened my own secure feed connection to Lio. _I need to pick you up,_ I warned him. _It’s about to get chaotic._

Prometheus would never bite his lip, so Lio didn’t, but his heart rate indicated extreme anxiety. _Understood_ , he said. Even his feed voice sounded scared, though you wouldn’t know it from looking at him. 

Hostiles Six and Nine stepped forward, energy weapons aimed at me and Lio. 

I told StationSecSys to trigger every alarm it had. 

Sound and light erupted all over the commercial docks. I had tuned down my hearing and filtered my vision, but the Hostiles flinched, caught off-guard by the riot. I lunged forward and slammed the weapon out of Hostile Six’s hand, grabbed his wrist, and swung him bodily into three other Hostiles. Two of them fell over, tangled with Six’s body, while the third staggered, then tripped over a noncombatant running past in a panic. 

Hostile Eight fired his energy weapon at me, but like I said before, those do fuck-all to me except make me mad. I threw the gun I’d taken from Six at Eight’s head and he staggered. At the same time, Hostile Five made a grab for Lio. I broke his arm, took his weapon, and slammed him to the ground. 

Hostile Seven had stayed back from the action, talking into his feed again. Whatever, we weren’t sticking around long enough for the reinforcements he was calling to matter. I grabbed Lio and tucked him against my side, then started running for the private dock gate. As I did, Lio took the energy weapon I was still holding and shot Hostile Seven in the leg.

Huh. _I didn’t know you could shoot_ , I said over our private feed. 

_I can’t,_ he said. He was clinging to me tightly enough that I didn’t have to devote a lot of effort to securing him, and his feed voice sounded giddy. _Prometheus can._

On my other input, ART said, _That’s not how that works._

 _Stop snooping on my feed connections,_ I complained. 

_Do you want my help or not?_

I cut the feed. ART didn’t even bother waiting this time; the connection reopened in .005 seconds. _I have permission to launch._

 _How long?_ The nice thing about the private and commercial docks being separate is that an emergency in one doesn’t prevent launches in the other from happening (unless certain conditions are met). The downside is that it takes a long time to get from one end of one to the far end of the other. 

_212 seconds,_ ART told me.

Shit. I pulled up the station schematic. It would be tight, but I could do it. Probably. _Hold on,_ I warned Lio. _I need to run._

 _You_ are _running—_ Lio started, then broke off with a yelp as I accelerated. 

SecUnits can move a lot faster than humans or augmented humans, and not just because we’re taller than most of them. In seconds I was at the gate to the private docks. It was supposed to be locked thanks to the alarms going off, but I was still in control of StationSecSys and the gate opened as we approached. I told it to lock behind us, which would hopefully buy us some time, and sprinted onward through the maze of the private docks—

Five more Hostiles stepped around cargo containers into my path. I recognized two of them from the restricted Rootpoint employee passage earlier, but three were new. 

_Deity,_ Lio swore in our feed. _How many of these guys are there?_

 _They paid a lot for you,_ I reminded him. _They don’t want to lose you._

 _Too bad for them,_ Lio said. His feed voice was determined and afraid at the same time. My sensors told me his heart rate, already rapid with fear, had sped up further, and his grip on my jacket tightened. 

I was still running at full speed and the new Hostiles clearly hadn’t been expecting that. I blasted through them before they’d managed to raise their weapons, slamming two of them into each other, the third into the side of a cargo container, and the fourth into the ground. The fifth I grabbed by the front of the shirt and flung back toward the others, knocking them over again. 

An energy weapon hit me in the back, and another blast went wild over Lio’s head. He yelped again, but twisted to shoot his own stolen energy weapon over my shoulder. I was still watching us on the security cameras and I saw Lio’s first two shots miss the Hostile firing at us, but the third clipped her shoulder and she went down again. 

I was halfway across the private docks by now. I had no idea where the dock employees were - probably Rootpoint had told them to clear out - and the hauler bots didn’t seem inclined to attack us. (That’s a bigger relief than it sounds. I’ve been attacked by out-of-control hauler bots before and I don’t especially want to repeat it.) I could see ART up ahead, its loading zone warning lights blinking as it prepared for departure.

 _45 seconds,_ ART warned in my feed. It was trying to sound indifferent but I knew it well enough to hear that it was nervous. If it launched now, thanks to the alarms going off, it wouldn’t be able to dock again until the alarms had been fully cleared and the station’s human security staff reopened the docks. If it didn’t launch now, it wouldn’t be able to launch again until the alarms had been fully cleared (those certain conditions I mentioned). We had one shot at this.

“Eden!” Lio yelled, right in my ear. I checked the cameras and saw two ordinary Station Security employees had stepped out in front of ART’s open cargo lock. They were holding projectile weapons but hadn’t raised them yet, and looked more afraid than angry. 

Having a terrifying murderbot running at you will do that. 

I didn’t want to hurt them, and under most other circumstances I could have neutralized them without causing lasting damage. But we only had 28 more seconds before ART launched, and its cargo lock was beginning to cycle closed. 

Lio shifted against my side, straightening his spine and making himself as tall as he could. On the cameras, his face set into Prometheus’s fierce glare, fixed on the two humans with haughty authority. In Prometheus’s commanding voice, he bellowed, “ _Move!_ ”

It shouldn’t have worked. 

It worked.

The two humans wavered, then broke to either side. I blew past them, wrapped a protective arm around Lio’s head and tucked him against my shoulder, and dove. We hit the loading ramp, skidded upward, and rolled under the nearly-closed cargo lock door. It slammed shut almost on my elbow, and in my feed ART said, _Prepare for launch._

I felt ART’s engines rumble, and its onboard gravity adjusted to compensate for the acceleration. My connection with StationSecSys dropped as we moved out of range, but I didn’t need it anymore. What we needed was to get through the lock into the habitable areas. I still took 13.5 seconds to lie there, because we'd just reenacted episode 79 of _Timestream Defenders Orion_ and I didn’t know how to process that.

 _Get up,_ ART said. _It’s not safe for your human in there._

 _He’s not my human,_ I said automatically, but even as I said it I knew it was a lie. 

ART didn’t dignify it with a response, either, just cycled the interior airlock. 

I was lying on my back on the floor of the cargo lock, with Lio sprawled on top of me. He was clinging to me and shaking, with his face buried against my neck. I don’t like to be touched even by my humans, and I definitely don’t like being clung to. I climbed to my feet, detached him, and set him down, then steadied him when he wobbled. At least I could watch him through ART’s cameras instead of having to pretend to look at his face. It made it easier to handle him having all these emotions. 

“Come on,” I said, making my voice gentle. (Despite being a terrifying murderbot, I actually do have the ability to sound gentle. It’s helpful for getting scared, panicking clients to listen to me.) “We have to get through the airlock.” Then, because he clearly needed to hear it, I added, “You’re safe now.” 

He made a hysterical noise.

 _He needs to go to Medical,_ ART said. _He’s in shock._

Ugh, that meant he was going to be clingy whether I liked it or not. But I wasn’t as annoyed with him as I should have been. He’d kept a level head during our escape, and even helped me, including managing to shoot two Hostiles without hitting me (you’d be surprised how rare that is for humans who aren’t weapons-trained), and getting those Station Security employees out of the way. That was more than most of my past clients had done. (Not counting the Preservation Aux survey team, but they’re an anomaly). 

_He has a tracking implant, too,_ I told ART. _Can you remove it?_

ART did the feed equivalent of rolling its eyes. _Would you like me to calculate the number of cycles to the next system? That might be harder._

I made a rude gesture (an especially vitriolic one I’d picked up from one of Mensah’s offspring) where Lio couldn’t see it, which ART ignored. With my other hand, I pointed at the open interior airlock. “Medical is this way,” I said to Lio. “Come on.” 

“I’m fine,” Lio said, but he’d twitched when I’d spoken and my scan showed his heart rate was still way too high. “I mean, I’m not hurt.” 

_You need to be treated for shock,_ ART said over its public feed.

Lio jumped halfway to the ceiling, which just proved ART’s point, and looked around wildly. “Who’s that?”

 _Stop scaring him,_ I said, also in the public feed. Out loud, to Lio, I said, “That’s ART. It’s an asshole.” 

ART said, _You are aboard the_ Perihelion _, registered teaching and research vessel of the Pansystem University of Mihira and New Tideland._

Lio looked up in the way humans do when they’re talking to something they can’t see, then began turning in a slow circle, staring around the cargo lock. “This… is a transport vessel,” he said slowly.

“Yes,” I said.

“That—” He pointed upward, presumably meaning ART. “Is the transport’s bot pilot.”

 _Yes,_ ART said. 

He finished his circle and pointed at me. “And you…” A 4.7-second hesitation, during which he visibly swallowed. “You’re a SecUnit.” 

“Yes,” I said, because he’d figured it out back on the docks when he’d heard my buffer and I didn’t want to lie to him when he’d been mostly honest with me. 

“Oh,” he said, his voice faint. “I’m going to sit down now.” Then his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed. 

I’d seen that coming from a kilometer away, so I caught him before he hit the deck and lifted him in my arms. ART offered to send its medical gurney and I told it to fuck off. Company protocol said I’m supposed to let the medical equipment take over, but my governor module doesn’t get a say in that anymore. Lio hardly weighed anything and I had somehow come out of that entire episode unharmed, except for some mild burns on the organic bits of me from the energy weapons. I could take him to Medical myself. 

As I made my way through ART’s corridors, I asked, _Will there be any trouble for you with the station?_

 _No,_ ART said smugly. _An unidentified human kidnapper took Rootpoint studio employee Lio Fortuna aboard a bot-piloted transport bound for the Catacrom IV transit hub, which departed from cargo slot 2DE56 during the incident on the docks. The_ Perihelion _departed from cargo slot 2HJP1, 7.24 CR-standard minutes prior to the incident with no passengers aboard._

 _There were human security employees at your loading bay,_ I reminded it. _They saw us._

 _Humans’ memories are notoriously unreliable in high-stress situations,_ ART said. It sounded even more smug now, the asshole. _Regardless of what those employees might recall, StationSecSystem’s cameras and their own patrol logs show they were guarding cargo slot 2DE56 when they were attacked by the human kidnapper._

It was a good thing only a small number of trusted humans knew what ART was capable of. _Thanks_ , I said. 

Medical was already active and waiting for us when I stepped inside. I set Lio down on the narrow platform and the med suite unfolded from the ceiling to hover over him, checking him for injuries and prepping the shock treatment and implant extraction modules. When he was settled, I took the static art souvenir out of my pocket and set it carefully on a shelf where I knew it would be in full view of one of ART’s cameras. 

_There is a surface on the bridge which my humans use to keep their sentimental objects,_ ART said. 

ART’s humans did, uh-huh. I said, _Do you want me to put it there?_

There was a 5.8-second pause, then ART said, _Yes._

I had an emotion of my own, but this time it maybe wasn’t completely unpleasant. 

I would move the souvenir later, though. The medical suite was still working on Lio, and I wasn’t going anywhere until I knew he would be okay. I stripped out of my jacket and deflection vest, dropped them in the recycler to be repaired, grabbed a couple of wound packs out of the supply kit, and pressed the packs to the burns on my organic bits. (I wouldn’t have bothered except that ART was looming pointedly in my feed and I knew I would lose if it became an argument.) Then I settled onto one of the bench seats lining the walls.

Between the shock of everything that had happened and the chronic sleep deprivation indicated by the dark circles under his eyes, Lio didn’t regain consciousness until after the recycler had returned my vest and jacket, and ART and I had watched seven episodes of _World Hoppers._ (Watching _Sanctuary Moon_ felt too weird with Prometheus asleep a meter away, even if I avoided the episodes with him in them. Watching it was probably going to feel weird for a while, which sucked.) 

Lio stirred, then sat up so quickly he nearly banged his head on the med suite still hovering over him. “Wh—Where—?” 

_You are aboard the_ Perihelion, ART said in its talking-patiently-to-students voice. _Do you remember?_

“I… Yeah,” Lio said. He looked around, the med suite retreating out of his way into the ceiling, and spotted me. “Eden? I mean… uh… you…” 

“Eden is fine,” I said. “Or my other humans call me SecUnit.” 

“Your… other humans,” he echoed weakly. “Your—your bond company?” 

There was a 96.3% chance he’d been about to say _your owners_. I appreciated that he hadn’t. I thought he might understand what that meant more than most humans, even in the Corporation Rim. “No,” I said.

 _SecUnit is an independent security consultant, currently on contract with the University of Mihira and New Tideland to provide security to the_ Perihelion _while it serves as an uncrewed cargo transport,_ ART said in the feed. 

Lio sat in silence for 13.7 seconds as he processed that. He was smart, so it didn’t surprise me when he said to me, “So, you’re a rogue SecUnit.” He glanced up at the ceiling. “Working with a… you said that’s the bot pilot?” 

“It’s an asshole,” I said. “But it’s the asshole that got us off Rootpoint’s station, and took out your tracking implant.” 

_Your gratitude is overwhelming,_ ART said to me, still in the public feed.

 _Shut up,_ I said back. 

Lio listened with wide eyes. (It’s a common reaction to ART.) Finally he said, “You got my implant out?” 

I pointed over at the little container where MedSys puts the bits it extracts from humans. His implant, a silver chip the size of a fingernail, floated innocently in a sterile solution. Lio stared at that for a while, too. “Oh,” he said. 

_I have prepared a treatment for trauma,_ ART told him. _It will start when you lie back down._

“No, I…” Lio stopped, bit his lip, then shook his head. When he spoke again, his voice was stronger. “I’m okay. I don’t need a treatment. It’s just a lot to process.” 

_That means you need the treatment,_ ART said.

Lio huffed a little laugh. “Later, then, maybe.” He pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, then ran his fingers backwards through his hair. When he looked up, he tried to meet my eyes. (It didn’t work, because I was staring at the far wall and watching him through the cameras.) “Thank you for… all this. I owe you...” He made a vague hand gesture. “Everything.” 

“You don’t owe me anything,” I said. Humans thanking me is still a novelty, but humans owing me anything is just weird.

He frowned. “You never did say why you helped me.” 

In my private feed, ART said, _Are you going to be honest with him?_ It sounded skeptical, and, shit. Now I had to be honest, if only to spite ART. 

(ART knew it, too, which was why it had said that. Like I said, it’s an asshole.) 

I said, “I hacked my governor module because I was tired of dancing on the company’s strings.” 

He studied me for a moment. I couldn’t read his expression, but the intensity of his gaze reminded me of Mensah. “I see,” he said quietly. 

Okay, that was enough talking about feelings. I said, “Our next stop is the transit ring in the Aridia system. ART can have a new feed identity ready for you by the time we get there. One that will actually get you past any identity checks.”

 _There are twenty-six passenger transports departing the Aridia transit ring within seven Corporation-standard cycles of our arrival,_ ART added. _I will help you arrange transportation on whichever route you choose._

Lio looked up at the ceiling. “I thought you said this was a, what was it, a research and teaching vessel.” 

_That is correct,_ ART said. 

Lio’s expression turned visibly skeptical. Considering how effectively he could control his expressions, he was making a point. “A research and teaching vessel with a rogue SecUnit on contract, that can safely remove a Q-class tracking implant, give me a new identity, and get me passage on a transport.” 

_The university to which I am attached often provides assistance to abandoned colonies as part of its research mission. At times such assistance includes making available the appropriate identification papers and other necessities for surviving residents to leave a failed colony._

“I see,” Lio said again. The tone of his voice suggested he’d read between the lines of ART’s words, enough to understand what it really meant. 

_We will arrive at the Aridia transit ring in thirteen cycles,_ ART said. _Tell me before then what you wish to do._

He nodded, then looked up at the ceiling. “Thanks, uh, ART.” 

_You’re welcome._

Silence fell over the compartment, long enough that I thought the conversation was over and started to pull up the interrupted _World Hoppers_ episode ART and I had been watching. But then Lio bit his lip and looked down at his knees, which I’d figured out by now meant he was afraid. Having been in his position, I thought I knew why. 

I paused the episode again. “You didn’t have a plan for after you got off Rootpoint’s station, did you?” 

He shook his head, looking sheepish. “I wasn’t really expecting to get that far,” he admitted. “I mean, I was hoping—But I figured they’d catch me and drag me back and I’d have to… to do something more drastic. But I had to at least try, first.” 

That sentiment was uncomfortably familiar. I said, “If you want to stay un-caught, you’ll need a better plan than hopping from station to station at random.” 

“Yeah,” Lio agreed. He rubbed his hands over his face. “I’ve never gotten to… This is the first time… I mean.”

That was familiar, too. It had taken me a long time to understand what I wanted after I'd hacked my governor module.

Lio stopped talking, took a deep breath, then looked at me. “Any suggestions?”

 _How do you feel about deep-space research?_ ART asked.

 _Hey,_ I protested in the private feed. _Hands off my human._

 _I thought he wasn’t your human,_ ART retorted. 

Lio looked up at the ceiling again (he’d get over that eventually). “Deep-space research, huh?” he said, and smiled. “You know, I think that sounds pretty interesting.” 

Stupid ART. Stupid humans. I looked to the side of Lio’s head, and said, “Then welcome aboard.”


End file.
